This is a very faded photo taken with my Dad's old Polaroid in our little cottage in Carbondale IL.
(Go Saluki's!!!)
I was 4.
(Yes at 4 I was already above my mother's waist. Thanks for that shot to the gene pool Dad!!)
My mom, the Home Ec/English double major with a Masters in Early Childhood development, gave me a sure foundation on lessons in cooking, life and love.
And then set me up to go forth and learn some more. And more. And even more.
Sadly though I had brain spasms when it came to sewing. I tried to make my Easter dress the first year I was married. Why? Because I could not find a dress to match my hat. Which resulted in a pique of frustration and throwing a bobbin of thread across the room and a call to my mother who calmly asked me if "my needle was flat back" Those who sew, know what she's talking about. Those who don't? I'll share that story and picture next spring.
But I digress.
THIS is the first cookbook she ever gave me. I almost want to take it off my cookbook library case and store it in a safety deposit box.
It is that precious to me.
Along with my
Grandmother's handwritten recipes for her Fudge, Pralines and Divinity that she would make every Christmas. Individually wrapped. Stored in old tins on her "cold porch"
But I just can't bear for them to be out of sight.
I need to be able to go back and look at the handwritten cursive notes
and touch the cards
Food is more than sustenance for me.
It holds an essence of memories of loved ones long gone and a celebration of the ones I can still hold.
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